The Fourth Tale of Something Vaster – ‘Caterpillar Scout’

The complete exploration of the new unfamiliar territory took him five days.

He maneuvered through the valleys and over the hills where he met nothing but nothingness. He rested in the shade during the swelter of the days and moved more quickly at night.

His tracks show his dedication.

He scanned the horizon for signs of danger while he sampled the surface underfoot, every hair on his body alert, reaching and seeking.

Once the entire terrain was mapped out, he felt it safe to move on, go back, and set everyone’s concern at ease. Though his own concern grew more insistent the closer he got to home.

Fear not friends, there are no monsters or gods or poisonous gases or predators looking to harm us.

Yet he still felt a whisper of the heavy, expectant nothingness slowly surrounding and settling in.

The Third Tale of Something Vaster – ‘Windeavor’

The wind fuels her rituals – neverending sitting, deciphering, reporting – the weight of it all suffocates her.

Why do I have to do this anyway? I harbor nothing ill for the bird, the dog ruminates.

Lava-hot anger rises within as she realizes she merely does what she is told, falling into line with her ancestors demands.

Romping through the lands with the bird like an abandoned hurricane full of fearsome glee is her true calling.

And in that moment, freedom.

Jumping into the winds, she opens her jaws wide, snapping in desperate hope, against all odds and designs… when it happens.

Her paws land on roads of invisible flutters and life begins anew.

The wind fuels her rituals – roaming, howling, frolicking – and she wonders if she will ever get to enjoy sitting still again.

The Second Tale of Something Vaster – ‘A Test of Time’

She slowly covers her tiny sphericle with a loosely woven blanket, taking a languid glance at the swirling pulsing promiseful life it shone.

This one will last.

Her eyes roam around flitting over the unfortunate blanket choices of the past and the sphericles who paid for her mistakes with their promise.

The thick blankets stole too much light and warmth away while the sheer ones let sparks of flame pass through, much to her dismay.

She wonders if this is her time to pass the test and then wonders if she’s ever wondered anything else at all. Her mind swims with sphericles and blankets – some pale, almost forgotten, others as bright as the undying fire and just as painful to touch.

This one is the one.

Some time later she slowly uncovers the sphericle and watches its promise pulse and swirl with hastening intensity that she knows can only go on for a short time.

She lays down on her back next to the sphericle, listening to it hum, she slowly covers them both with the perfect blanket, listening to it quiet down, she blinks at the little spots of light shining through the weave and enjoys how they seem to twinkle as soft breezes whisper through her infinite garden.